


In-Between

by sirwolfeye



Category: Black Lagoon (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Action, F/M, Thriller, Underworld
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-12
Updated: 2019-03-12
Packaged: 2019-11-16 01:30:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18084833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sirwolfeye/pseuds/sirwolfeye
Summary: This story explores what happens in between arcs, and what happened prior to Rock joining the Lagoon Company. Rated M as any self-respecting Black Lagoon Fan Fiction would be.





	In-Between

**_Author's Note:_ **

_Hi there Dwellers of the Twilight,_

_It's been in my heart to write a Black Lagoon Fan Fiction since I read El Baile Del Muerte. I started by figuring out the timeline. Here's what I came up with:_

_**November 1993: Chang and Balalaika fateful duel.** _

_**1994: Benny Joins the Lagoon company** _

_**Winter 1996: "Black Lagoon" and "Ring-Ding Ship Chase"** _

_**Spring 1996: "Rasta Blasta", "Das Wieder Erstehen Des Adlers", and "Calm down two men" events.** _

_**Summer 1996: Bloodsport Fairy tale events (In that part of the world, they have higher precipitations in May through October)** _

_**Autumn 1996: Goat, Jihad and Rock'N Roll events** _

_**Winter 1997: Fujiyama Gangsta Paradise** _

_**Spring 1997: Greenback Jane events** _

_**Summer 1997: El Baile Del Muerte events (Volume 6: Diego Lovelace's gravestone shows he died on August 1996)** _

_**Autumn 1997: The Wired Red Wild Card events**._

_Next chapter due next month, hopefully._

* * *

 

**Honest to God Gunslinger I**

_December 1993_

It's strange how a place seems to change when you stop calling it home. Dutch was still a teenager when Malcolm X and Martin Luther King were on every front page. Blacks always complained about New York, but he always liked it. It's almost ironic that white teenagers nowadays consider hanging out with black people "cool." They even go above and beyond to act and dress like them.

He docked in New York, before heading to the destination, because he needed a gunman for the job at hand. The company was doing well, and he could afford a long-term gunman. There was only the annoying matter of whether he can find a person he could trust. Hotel Moscow, the triads, Casa Nostra, and others kept on offering "help." He was aware of what's lurking beneath that word would never be good for business. His company was built on neutrality, and he liked it that way.

This job was commissioned by Chin. He didn't like the guy; he barely introduced himself before proposing a "long-term" cooperation. Dutch didn't blame the man for trying. Most of those who hire him them the first time do. What annoyed him was Chin's smirk at his refusal. Another pair of guns never hurt anyone. Depending on the perspective, of course.

In normal circumstances, he wouldn't have accepted Chin's commission. However, in the wake of Balalaika and Chang's duel, it was wise to stay away from Roanapur while the dust settled. Chin's shipment just gave him an excuse to stay away for a month give or take.

He didn't know if old Paul was still kicking. If Paul was not able to provide services, Chin's shipment was going to have to wait. He made sure to include a "late-delivery" clause in their contract, as Chin's assurances were not up to his standards.

He pushed the bar door and went to a table in the corner with a "Reserved" sign on it. He sat down and looked at the barman who was faking detachment. The barman stood up as if he didn't notice him and opened a door behind him labeled "Personnel Only." He disappeared for five minutes. He came back and sat down with the same detachment.

Paul insisted on these routines. Anonymity was to Paul's business what neutrality was to his. When you live on the edge, you have no choice but to base your life on fragile things.

Paul emerged from the front door, five minutes after the barman sat down. "They go to the other side o'the world to make a name for themselves! Ten years later, they come running to ya! " Said Paul, smirking while he pulled the chair opposite his.

"Who are you, my mom?" He said, mirroring Paul's smirk "And it was twelve years."

"Not black enough, and last time I checked, I didn't have a vagina!"

"Doesn't keep you from menstruating."

"Haha! Never gonna let go of that hemorrhoid story, will ya, Dutch-boy?"

"Until some people get off heir high horse."

"What brings ya here? Not my bloody ass, I hope."

The barman set down a bottle of Bacardi and two glasses. Paul narrowed his eyes and fixed Dutch's. Dutch nodded in acquiescence. This made the barman turn on his heels. This was another of Paul's Routines. Glasses will be filled, terms will be discussed. If those glasses are emptied, it meant that a deal was made.

"I have a shipment. I need a gunman."

"Not satisfied with the sender's assurances?" Asked Paul, filling the glasses.

"Nosy types are..."

"... aren't too popular" Interjected Paul "I know. I just need to know what my employee needs to know."

"Payment already made. If shit hits the fan, kill everything in sight."

"Hmm... So what you need is a pure gunman."

"Pure? You don't hear this word often in this line of work."

"Oh! That's was I used to think too before I met her..."

"Her?"

Dutch didn't know many women in that line of work. He thought of Balalaika as an exception.

"Yes, but let me tell ya... She got more balls than twenty men combined!"

"I wouldn't call a woman with balls pure..."

"I didn't say she was a pure woman, nor a pure human for that matter. Word in the street: she killed her own father. She's a pure gunman. Those Berettas feel at home at her hands. You get the best return on investment on her bullets."

"Ex-military?" asked Dutch, thinking of Balalaika.

"Not even close!"

"What?!"

"That's what I tell ya! Self-taught! All of it!"

"What did she do before this?"

"When I asked her that, she said the girl she was before she took up the gun was dead."

"You accepted someone who doesn't even go through the trouble of faking their past. Getting careless with recruitment policy?"

"Oh! You would have accepted too! You'll beg me to take her full-time when you're done. Of course, I checked her background. The first time she was seen with a Smith & Wesson, she was twelve."

"You're gonna give me a nut-job to protect my life!'

"Like you're not one yourself."

"There's nut-job, and there's straight-up broken."

"We're all broken, Dutch. Some of us fixed themselves, but we all have fault-lines. Let me tell ya: whatever she used to piece herself back together, made her one hell of an honest-to-god gunslinger."

"Gotta check her first."

"You know that's not how things work around here. Have you ever been dissatisfied with my gunmen?"

"I hired your gunmen more than a decade ago. Quality drops over time."

"Oh ho ho ho. You and I know that this place ages like wine. So is that side of the world you went to. This bar may as well be an extension of Roanapur."

Roanapur. A place where people know they gotta trick each other to survive and they're not shy about it. Eat or be eaten, like the good old times. Not that the outside world has progressed above that. It's just that people in Roanapur are honest to themselves about it.

Dutch brought the glass up to his mouth and downed it slowly. Paul did the same.

"She gets out of prison tomorrow" Announced Paul.

"What the fuck!"

"You didn't ask. You're losing your edge. By the way, my prices went up."

"Eat or be eaten... Eat or be eaten..."

Paul Smiled. "Nice seeing ya Dutch. As Compensation, take the rest of the Bacardi. Drown your sorrows." He said while scribbling where they were supposed to meet the following day.

* * *

Paul called the day before, telling her he had found work for her. It was a job of his that landed her there in the first place. Doesn't she get some kind of a vacation for that? "Your time in jail is your time-off" was what he said when she protested.

"Fuck you, Paul!" she shouted to no one in particular, as she replayed the conversation in her mind.

"Can I be Paul?" said Sonya, the guard who she fucked over ten times over the past two months.

"Fuck off! You twisted Bitch."

Sonya giggled as if she was paid a compliment, and handed her the forms she had to sign to get back her clothes.

She returned the form. Sonya didn't even check it and gave her a plastic bag with her clothes in it.

"You know... I wore your underwear" Said Sonya.

"You didn't masturbate in it, did ya?"

"One way to find out..."

"Fuck you!"

"Always," Sonya said, blowing a kiss in her direction.

She went back to the bench and changed her clothes, while Sonya was watching her. "All that for cigarettes..." She thought. She left both of the prison underwear and her own in the plastic bag and returned them to the pervert.

"Don't stay out of trouble," said Sonya suggestively.

She dismissed her and went on. As she was making her way through the long corridor, toward the exit. She ached for cigarettes. Real ones. Not like the one that bitch smuggled for her.

Paul was waiting for her outside in a black sedan. A huge black dude was sitting beside him in the passenger seat, his arms crossed watching intently in front of him. At least, he seemed to, she couldn't tell with those sunglasses. "Perfect! if he gloats over his cock, even once, I'll smash his balls" she thought to herself.

She got in the back-seat. Paul gave her a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. She allowed herself to block reality for a second, inhaled as if there was no tomorrow. Paul waited until she exhaled and settled herself.

"Meet Dutch, you'll be working with him for the next week."

Dutch just nodded. She looked at him through the front mirror. "The silent type, eh? He thinks he's better than the rest of us..." She thought. "Let's put him in his place..."

"So, Mister Dutch..." she began, mockingly.

"Just Dutch."

"What kind of a first name is  _Just_?"

"I meant you can call me Dutch."

"It was a joke!"

"Not funny."

"You fuck!"

"Rebecca!" Interjected Paul.

"What!"

"So this is Rebecca," Said Paul, ignoring her laments. "Never mind her temper. Despite how she looks, she has nerves of steel when it counts."

"And you're saying I am losing my edge... Gotta question your recruitment policy..." Sighed Dutch.

"What's your problem you fucking Negro!" she shouted.

It was Paul's turn to sigh " From mister to negro... Quite the shift. Dutch thinks you can't handle a dozen of armed guys. You don't give a good first impression, Rebecca."

"Who gives a fuck?" She retorted.

"Why don't you make me eat my words, Revy?" Challenged Dutch.

"I'll make you eat co... Wait! What the fuck did you just call me?"

"Told you you'll get along just fine," Paul said, laughing.

* * *

They drove to her room at the Bronx. They waited as she went up to her room the get her gear.

"Are you gonna tell me she's on her period?"

"Don't let that front fool ya. When she's really upset, you won't hear squat from her"

Dutch knew Paul was eccentric. He was too, in a way, and that's why they got along. The difference was that Dutch knew where to draw the line. Paul never thought of drawing the line.

Her room stunk of her own dirty laundry and rotten leftovers that were left there for weeks. She held her breath and went in to pick up her guns, bullets and cleaning kit from under her bed. She stuffed everything in a satchel. Put on clean clothes; a black T-shirt, underwear, torn-up jeans at the left knee, a jean jacket, and sneakers.

"Hey, Rebecca! Are you here?" A voice called out from the hallway. It was Jimmy, her Landlord.

"For fuck's sake!" she muttered.

"Where the fuck were you? It's been two..."

"Jail! Got out this morning. I'm moving out. So long Jim."

"What? You have to pay me and give me a month notice."

"Can't afford it. You're on your own buddy."

"What the fuck are you on about?"

"Can't pay ya. Call the cops if it makes you feel better."

Jimmy knew the least troublesome option was to let her go "Just pack your things and .."

"Done!"

"What?" He said raising his eyebrows eyeing the filth behind her.

"Picked the babies. That's all I need."

"You had babies in there?"

"Yes, and they missed their mommy so much!" She fished for a Beretta from her satchel, kissed it and raised it pointing between Jimmy's eyes. He froze. "BAM!" She mimicked. Jimmy stumbled backward before falling on his rear. "Thanks, Jim. Real pleasure" She waved while making her way downstairs.

She found Dutch waiting for her outside the car.

"Need a new place, Paul. Jim said he needed to make repairs."

"Ain't that a shame... I'll find you something after the job. You'll sleep in Dutch's boat until the job is done anyway. Dutch will explain everything. Behave yourself. Bye"

"You're not gonna drive us?"

"Boat is docked near Tiffany and Viele. You can go on foot."

"Fuck you!"

"You too," he said, the car already in motion. "Good luck Dutch!"

"Thanks" Replied Dutch.

Dutch and Revy stood there. Neither said a word until Paul's Sedan was out of view.

It was Dutch who broke the silence. "Let's get along. For a short while, at least."

"Yeah! Let's" She felt that Paul was right. Dutch seemed the right kind of fella. He had a job, and he needed it done. That was all.

They walked in silence until they reached where the ship was docked. Dutch showed her the cabin. It had a small bed and a small fridge. He showed her where he kept the weapons. It was the most exciting part for her. Dutch liked how her eyes awed at each piece of his collection. A "pure" gunman... He was yet to see what Paul meant, but he didn't know many that would awe at such a humble collection of guns. He carried many weapons on the boat. It's too risky when you don't have crewmates. Besides his Smith and Wesson Model 629, he had: a PM-63 RAK, a Heckler & Koch G3A3, a Remington 870 Marine Magnum, a Remington 700 Sniper Rifle, a Gepard M3, an M79 Grenade Launcher, an Arwen 37 and an RPG-7. Nothing above the necessity.

"Wah! Dude! You know how to keep a girl interested" She examined the Gepard M3 as if it was some kind of pony. "I hope I'll get to use this baby. You keep them all in good shape, I gotta say"

"I'm thinking of hiring a gunman. If you impress me in this job, I might whip up an offer" He said smiling.

She raised her eyebrow. "And why would I be interested? I mean besides these babies, I don't exactly like you..."

"I'm well aware that the employer gotta impress the employee as well. I see we already have something in common. "

She liked his answer. It's not like she was looking for a new job, and she liked Paul. Paul didn't ask a lot of questions. But the way he operates, she couldn't help but think that he knew more about her than what he let on. That made her uneasy, but she could live with that. A little unease is nothing compared to what she went through.

"Do we?"

"Not liking one another."

* * *

 

It was 2 pm when Dutch finished showing Rebecca around the boat. He decided against proceeding to tell her about the job, and what was it she was supposed to do. He never needed to verify Paul's claims. There used to be a mutual trust between them. A subtle ceasefire, to be more precise. They both held each other weaknesses. Now that he set up his business elsewhere, it seems that Paul judged that keeping each other satisfied was not as necessary as it used to be. Paul already got him twice that morning, but those were like little friendly jabs. Friendly or not, he needed to restore the balance. He needed to assess Rebecca's abilities. He couldn't afford to accept faulty service.

"Aren't ya forgettin' somethin', Big Guy? Old Paul may have said I'd tag along on yer little trip, but I ain't said I'd do. I'm the one puttin' her fuckin' ass on the line here! Who do I get to shoot?" Rebbecca said, cutting his trail of thought

Dutch felt divided upon hearing this. He was pleased that she took the initiative to ask about the job. That showed professionalism. However, he was displeased at her phrasing of what she required to do. It suggested she enjoyed shooting people.

"First, let's see how much of a shot you are," he requested.

She grinned. She apparently had complete confidence in her abilities. She pulled a Beretta from her satchel.

"Nah! Here, use mine. I gotta make sure you know how to handle unfamiliar guns."

She took the gun. It was a Smith Wesson Model 629. A double-action .44 revolver. She checked the cylinder. There was one bullet.

"Got more ammo?" she inquired.

"Didn't think you need more. It's one target. I guess I got my hopes up," he said, feigning disappointment.

She scowled at him. He didn't mention it was one target. She couldn't believe she thought for a second he was a decent guy. Her first impression was spot-on: he thinks he's better than everybody. "Once the fuckin' gig's over, he's over too," she thought. "What's the target?" she inquired, not making any effort on hiding her exasperation.

"She's got a temper, but she's professional," Dutch thought before displaying a satisfied smile. He got a glare as a reply. He got an earpiece from the dashboard and threw it to her. "Follow me," he instructed. They went above deck. He motioned to where he wanted her to stand, told her to wait for his instructions. He made sure that she was at least at two-arms-length from anything that she could hold onto on reaction. He wanted to test her thought process in unfamiliar situations, not her reflexes.

He went back to the dashboard. "Do you read me?" He inquired, putting an earpiece

"Loud and clear!" She replied blankly.

"Kill me a bird," he instructed, mirroring her blankness.

"Come on! Gimme a challenge'ere!" She said taking aim after selecting a bird that was soaring high in the sky. She opted for a two-handed aim. She preferred pistols since it was easier to use them one-handed. As she steadied herself, she felt the deck vibrate underneath her sneakers. She removed her finger from the trigger instinctively. The boat started to move. She looked around to find something to hold on to as she felt it gain in momentum. It was mere seconds before the boat was in full speed. She couldn't keep her balance on the deck. The sneakers she wore didn't help. The unhandy revolver made things worse. Dutch was watching her from the window of the pilot-room. He admired her tenacity as she struggled to get a grip.

He heard a gunshot and thought the gun must have gone off. He brought everything to a full stop. He felt robbed. Despite everything, he had high hopes for her.

"What the fuck is that?" She shouted.

"You'll be on deck duty. You need to be able to shoot moving targets in chase situations. Guess that was too much to ask." He said almost sympathetically.

"Guess again, you cocksucker!"

"Bullshit! Your gun went off... You're fired."

"I said I got the bird! It's right over there!"

"Then go fish it."

"For fuck sake!"

"Either that or..."

"Fine!"

He was amused by how obedient she was. He sat up and went topside to fetch the lifeboat so she could fish her proof. However, nobody was upon deck. Then he realized what went on upon seeing the earpiece and the revolver on deck. "You've got work ethics, I give you that." He said crossing his arms. He watched her perform an impossible crawl with clothes still on. "She's a swimmer, alright!"

Five minutes later, she was on the deck again, and Dutch was examining the bird's corpse.

"You've got a good aim. I'll give you that"

She didn't dignify his statement by an answer. She was annoyed by Dutch's little masquerade. She promised herself she would break his smug grin once the job's over. She intended to nip a shotgun or two to teach him a lesson. Dutch on the other hand was pleased. "Alright, alright... I'm sorry you go a little wet..."

"Wet! I'm fucking soaked, you twat! You'll pay for it!" she fumed.

"I don't remember telling you to swim for it. We've got an inflatable boat for that kinda situations. You get 5k as a consolation fee."

"Euh... You better for it out right now"

"Paul has it... I've planned a bonus for you if you behave. 30k on top of your regular rates. So far you earned your first 5k. "

"Tsk!"

"Well now, you'd be no good if you catch a cold. Go dry yourself and your clothes. There are towels and a dryer in the cabin. I'll explain the mission when you're done."

She decided to let him go for the moment. You can't find many guys that would give a bonus for performance. Whether he keeps his teeth or not remained to be seen.

* * *

Clothes dried and put back on, she called on Dutch. He appeared at the cabin door with a bunch of maps and blueprints. The blueprints proved to be boat charts.

"Our contact is guerrillas from the NPA. Apparently, they train their recruits in Cuba." He started explaining while putting a pliable table in the center of the cabin and laying the maps on it.

"Why? Not enough space in China?"

"I guess it's more psychoanalytically motivated. You train your recruits away from the motherland and stimulate an artificial patriotic feeling. Could also be that they are less monitored in Cuba. But that's none of our concern. They don't trust the local cartels with their deals. They go above and beyond to import goods from "trustworthy" traders. By "trustworthy" I mean Chinese. I gotta question their judgment though. Chin is bad quality, even by Chinese standards. No offense."

"None taken. Never been to China. I assume Chin is the other end of the deal."

"Yes."

"If he's scum, why take him up on this?"

Dutch made a sly grin. "I'm just a delivery boy. I reply to the highest bidder."

"So you assume those guys don't know who they're dealing with. They might fly off the handle if they don't like what they get. You don't wanna be a collateral."

"And that's where you come in."

"How many people are we talking about here? Never mind their numbers. If they go against us in the jungle, we're toast!"

"That's why we need an escape strategy if shit hits the fan. I laid down the groundwork. The pickup spot is Isla Cantoy. A little island near Cancun. 8.5 Kilometers in length and 3 square kilometers. We'll be at a running distance from the boat wherever we dock. That weakens their home field advantage. They can't station many guerrillas there, as the Island belongs to Mexico, but we can't count on that."

"So how many days before we get there?"

"A week. We're gonna have to make a couple of stops to refuel."

"A week!"

"Don't worry. I got something for you to do in the meantime..."

"And What's that?"

"You have to understand the sea jargon. It'll be the death of us if you don't understand what I tell you." He said, pointing to the boat charts.

"What?! Are you telling me to study!"

"I sure am."

"Fuck you!"

"Your other assignment is to come up with the escape strategy. You've got the guns, and here are the maps."

"I'll give you my strategy alright! Kill everything that moves. Even you! Especially you!"

"If you're wasteful with the bullets, it's coming out of your fee. We'll go over your homework in two days. Help yourself to anything in the fridge," he said, leaving the cabin.

"He's gotta be shitting me..." She grumbled while making her way to the fridge. All that was there was canned food and beer. "Help yourself to anything you want! I swear there's always a catch with this bastard!" He reminded her of Paul. Paul's intentions were always hidden. When they first met, she couldn't tell he was running a mercenary agency. She always smelled blood on a person from miles away. Yet, with Paul, she couldn't tell if he killed anybody himself. His statements were always accompanied by a balanced smile. You could never tell whether he was lying or not. The only time she thought he said something from the heart is when he brought up someplace called Roanapur: "It's heaven for the Devil."

* * *

She woke up feeling sick. The boat rocked all night and beer didn't help her sleep. They arrived at Sandy Hook Bay. Dutch knew somebody at the US Coat Guard. They docked there to refuel. It also explained why Dutch could sail a torpedo boat down the East River and Lower Bay without worry. She thought: "The bastard must have many tricks down his sleeve." She stayed on deck while the boat was being refueled. She enjoyed the sea breeze. Her jobs usually took her to stinky joints. This was a welcome change. Dutch joined her after he finished refueling.

"We'll have to make two other stops before we arrive. First one at Myrtle Beach, and the other at Miami. Let's go grab a bite before we set sail" he gestured to her.

She followed him without a word. There was something on her mind. Be it the alcohol, or the lack of sleep, she couldn't chase the idea of Roanapur from her mind. She wanted to see that place. She never lacked work with Paul, and with people always having somebody to kill. With the number of jobs she did, money was not an issue anymore. She could go any day and buy herself a house in the suburbs and try to live a normal life. She wasn't normal though. She crossed the line a long time ago. She was still a brat when she pulled that trigger. From time to time, she sees feathers floating around in her dreams.

They went to a diner near the Coast Guard station. They both ordered burgers and fries. They ate in silence.

She decided to break the silence. "Hey Dutch... Since you and Paul go way back... He mentions a place sometimes... Roanapur... Do you know it?" She would have liked to read his expression, but those damn sunglasses were in the way.

"You dumbass..."

"Wh..."

"Calm down. We'll talk in the boat."

* * *

Before going back to the ship, Dutch bid his Coast Guard guys farewell. He liked it when people owed him their lives and delivered on their gratitude. Few do, but those who do are the grease that helps the wheels of his business turn. Revy was waiting for him in the pilot room. He wondered what that bastard Paul was filling her little mind with. Has the old fart gone senile?

When he got in the pilot room, he found Revy sitting on the floor, with a beer and a cigarette.

"What the hell were you thinking? That diner is full of Coast guards..."

"What the fuck are you chewing me for? Besides, they're your buddies, aren't they?"

"It's a graveyard."

"What?"

"Roanapur. It's a place ain't for you... You still have life in you."

"But Paul said..."

"Forget what Paul said. He hasn't been there in fifteen years. That place is for people who have nowhere else to go."

"Nowhere else to go... huh?"

"Listen, kid. No more. You've got a job to do."

Revy knew there was no point in pushing it. She knew one thing though. When somebody refuses to talk about something it's either a gold mine or dirty laundry.

* * *

 

They made it to Miami in five days. Dutch has accounted for a day of rest and a day for unpredictability. Rebecca spent the trip between lying down and dismantling the guns and putting them back together on deck. He could tell she liked the sea breeze, especially that they progressed beyond the colder part of the trip. She tested recoils for all the guns he had on the ship on the two days following their departure from Sand Hook bay.

When they got to Myrtle Beach, Rebecca asked him whether they could get to Isla Cantoy a day or two before the rendezvous. He said that he would be able to manage it, but he'd rather have a day of respite before the exchange. Her reply was rather amusing for him.

"Listen! I'm not big on fuckin' maps! What do you think I am? A fuckin'... Whatever the fuck they call the people who make maps!"

"Cartographers."

"Who cares! I need to see the place for myself! I need to test the terrain under my feet! You can't see that on a map!"

"Actually, you can."

She made a grimace. He could see she felt embarrassed. Dutch deduced she didn't enjoy being looked down upon no matter what the situation was. She tried to redeem herself. "Didn't go to college, in case you ain't guessed"

"Actually, you learn that in middle school..."

"You.."

"More importantly, I didn't plan to go there right after we get to Miami, but we'll have to make due. I can't let the lack of education of my gunman be the death of me..."

"Motherfucker..."

"What about the escape route?"

"We won't need to run if they're dead."

"Works for me. Make sure they don't get us surrounded."

She expected an objection from him. Most people she was hired to bodyguard had qualms about her methods. She realized then he didn't expect her to protect him.

"What about you? You don't want me to babysit you?"

"I can take care of myself. It's the ship I'm worried about. If they get to it before we do, we're fucked"

She liked that. It meant she could go nuts.

"I'll take a PM-63, the Remington, and the M79. I like that baby, can't wait to blow shit up with it."

"I'll have the anti-tank ready on deck in case we need it"

"I won't lie to ya, Dutch. I'd kill to use that too, but that'll be too risky. You don't need college to figure that out. Neither of us will be on the boat while you do your little delivery boy thing. They could sneak while where distracted and make siege there."

"Got a point there."

She grinned. Dutch cut her jubilation short.

"Look at you all pleased for getting praised. Want a treat? Who's the good girl?"

"You..."

"What about the sea jargon?"

"Don't need that shit."

"If they engage in a chase, I'll have to give you instructions from the pilot room."

"That's the point. I'll wrap things on land."

"Fair enough."

She was starting to feel oddly frustrated at his lack of objections.

"What the fuck's wrong with ya? Ya makin' fun of me? "

"What do you mean?"

"First you tell me to fucking study! Then you tell me you don't fucking need it!"

"We don't wanna cramp your style, now, do we?"

"Tsk!"

"That's almost a  _"Thanks,"_  isn't it"

"Fuck you! That's a full  _"Fuck you!_ ""

* * *

He took her to Isla Cantoy, and left her there as she requested. He did it with a rented boat. He couldn't afford to have his boat identified. Although he didn't tell Chin he was taking the boat, there was a slight probability that he had given the NPA a description of it. Chen was an idiot with money, and you can't be sure with that kind of guys. He could have given them the description without giving it much thought.

In reality, he didn't need to to take the boat all the way from Roanapur to New York. He only took it because he couldn't entrust it to either the Triads or Hotel Moscow. That would have been as good as pledging allegiance. Both sides were on the edge as they were aware that their respective leaders should have fallen that night. They were looking for reasons to redeem their leaders' pride. It was bad enough that he saved Balalaika. He didn't intend to it. Balalaika knew that, but she told him "Hotel Moscow does not owe the Lagoon company. They owe you". It was her way of telling him she knew his business run on neutrality, but she, and by extension Hotel Moscow, couldn't go on without repaying him.

That was the difference between bosses like Chang and Balalaika and people like Chen. They knew that the world didn't run on money and power alone. They didn't expect or asked you to trust them. Trust was a myth, an insult for them. They built bridges with mutual profit and respect instead. Chen, on the other hand, tended to get irritated each time Dutch declined or put his request at the end of his waiting list. This job smelled of rotten it had all the proper ingredients of an old-fashioned set-up: One, it was far from the commissioner's place of business; Two, it involved a faction that had no allies in Roanapur; Three, the receiver was unaware of Dutch's reputation.

All Chen needed to fuck him over was a faulty package. Dutch knew that. So he requested a proof of the deal so he could confirm the mass of cocaine that was in the crate was indeed the one agreed upon. Chen replied to that by saying: "Come on Dutch! I'm one of the most respected bosses of Roanapur. You think I'd sully my name to screw you over?". He called the Triads two days later to verify the authenticity of the goods. At least he had half an insurance with that.

Any other day, he would have refused such a job. Yet, given the shit-storm that was unfolding between the Triads and Hotel Moscow, here he was.

He joined Revy the following day. His contact was a man called Gao Ping, was supposed to be a Lieutenant. He contacted them an hour before he arrived to inform them about the drop-off point. It was chosen by Revy. She picked a spot among the trees. He supposed she wanted to keep herself hidden. However, it gave NPA soldiers the edge. When he made this remark, she replied: "Exactly! That's what I want'em to believe". She also refused to turn on the earpiece he gave her, suggesting that they might have their conversation intercepted.

* * *

As she suspected, the NPA sent a reconnaissance team. They sent three speedboats, each with five soldiers. She spent the night trying to stay out of their sight. By daybreak, they all gathered west of the island. Dutch was supposed to dock North. Their docking there suggested they wanted to stay hidden. "That's too much for precautions. These guys are trying to fuck us for sure." She counted fifteen soldiers. She didn't want to engage them just yet. A bunch of them was bound to go see Dutch. She had to make her move then. She stayed hidden among the palm trees, while the unsuspecting soldiers made camp and waited to hear from Dutch.

Sure enough, half an hour later she heard Dutch's voice on their radio. After some chatter, three soldiers went through the jungle. Three others got on one of the speedboats and sailed south. She waited until the three men who left on foot were out of hearing distance. "Let's dance!"

She put the PM-63 and the M-79 on either of her sides so she could pick them up as soon as she had taken care of few guerrillas with the Remington.

"Let's see..."

It didn't help that the guerrillas were scattered. There were only two of them that could have been taken out without her having to shift aim. That would leave seven people who would come towards her once she's given out her position.

"For fuck's sake." She decided to go through with it anyway.

She killed the two men with two shots in quick succession. She left the Remington and picked up the other guns. The soldiers stirred. One of them shouted gesturing towards a nearby tent. They all hurried there.

"What the fuck!" She realized that the soldiers went to retrieve their weapons. "You're making it too easy!". She stormed toward the tent and fired a grenade with the M-79.

"Fuckin' A!" She quickly reloaded it taking advantage of the smoke screen. She couldn't shoot another grenade though, as four soldiers staggered through the smoke. She took out two of them with the sub-machine gun, and fired another grenade as the other ones located her and tried to take aim.

She reloaded the M79 again and waited for someone to come out again... The smoke cleared, and yet nobody came. There were still three people unaccounted for. It was too risky to bolt into the tent. She had two grenades left plus the one she just loaded. She didn't want to waste them. She brought only five since she carried three guns and their ammo. Plus, she had that speed boat that left earlier to think about.

As she decided to leave, she heard radio chatter.

"Fuck.."

She threw caution to the wind and went in. She barged in firing the PM-63. That took care of the guy who was talking on the radio. Two others were lying on the ground.

"That's a wrap! Give me a break! Are these guys really soldiers? Let's go see what that fucker's up to."

* * *

Five minutes after his arrival, three men armed with AK-47 showed up. The one in the middle was Gao Ping. Without much of a greeting, he nodded towards the crate and said in broken English: "Dat it?"

"Sure is. 15 Kilo. I need your signature... Got a problem?" He asked noticing the Gao's expression.

Gao ignored Dutch, and talked to the other two men, then said something on his radio. It appeared there was no answer on the radio. He tried again. Silence. Dutch suspected that Revy took care of whoever was on the other end of the line, but he couldn't worry about that at the moment. One of the men appeared to have suggested something to Gao. Gao nodded and said to Dutch: "Write number... On paper. Kilos."

Dutch, puzzled and suspicious, showed him 15 on the invoice instead. As soon as he noticed Gao's wince turn harder, he drew his gun. A three versus one, the situation was such as him pointing his revolver at Gao while the others two pointing their guns at him.

"Don't move!" Dutch shouted!

The situation was not unexpected. Chen must have told them he was sending a different amount.

"Chen xiānshēng said bad man!" Gao said between gritted teeth.

He kept Gao at gunpoint. "Where's the bitch..." He thought.

One of the other two men reached to his radio, pushed the button on his radio and said a word in Chinese. "Fuck!" said Dutch and shot Gao, an explosion followed and Dutch was blasted away. Then he heard the machine gun. He realized that it was Revy.

"The bitch was trying to get me too!"

"Who're ya calling a bitch, bitch?"

Revy's voice was mixed with the buzz of the blast. He could tell that she was smiling through the smoke.

"Come on! The other guys spoke on the Radio when they saw me. I think they called a boat!"

"When was that?"

"About fifteen minutes ago..."

"What? You killed them before I made contact with these guys!"

"Well, if I didn't do it they would've stormed in right after this fucker called." She said, kicking the corpse of the caller. " By the way! What took you so long to shoot?"

"Fuck! That was a fifty-fifty. Some of us aren't trigger-happy."

"Tsk! Anyway, let's scram! If they get to the boat, we're toast!"

* * *

Revy was carrying three guns and the ammo for the M79, and yet he couldn't keep up with her. She ran through the sand and the palm trees as if she lived there here whole life. After five minutes of running, he could see the boat. 300 meters starboard of the ship a speedboat was approaching at full speed.

"Revy! The..."

Before he could finish his sentence, Revy was on one knee, taking aim with the sniper rifle. Two shots. Five seconds later, a third one.

"Three in three! We can take our sweet time now."

The speedboat kept on circling out of control. Dutch marveled at Revy's feat. She took out three men in motion on a boat, including the pilot, without missing a shot.

"You old fart! Honest to God gunslinger, he said! She's a fucking devil!" Dutch laughed.

"What?" Revy puzzled at Dutch's sudden outburst!

"Tell me, Revy. How many guys were in that backup?"

"Name's Rebecca, stop calling me that! Nine, I guess..."

"Sorry I missed that."

"What? Got some screws loose or somethin'?"

"Says the woman who killed fifteen dudes, and smiles about it."

She grinned. "Fourteen, one's yours. Are all people from Roanapur like that? If that's the case, I guess I'm more than..."

"Drop that." Dutch mood soured.

Revy wasn't going to back down. She pointed the Rifle at him. "Squeal. How do I get..."

Dutch unfazed picks the guns and the ammo Revy left earlier on the floor. "The fact that you expect threatening people who live off that shit-hole with a gun changes anything shows that you are not ready for that place."

"Aha! So you're from Roanapur."

"I have a business there."

"What's makes you think I wouldn't fit in?" She asked lowering her gun.

Dutch sighed. "Come on... We have a long trip ahead of us..."

She felt cheated.

* * *

Five days later, they were back to New York. On the trip, Revy tried to bring Roanapur again a couple of times... On both occasions, Dutch remained silent.

Dutch called Paul a day in advance announcing their return. As soon as they docked, Revy got out and went on ahead.

"That short temper was a front, after all. Just like you said. How far did you get in her head, Paul?" He whispered to himself. He had a bad feeling. He could tell Paul had a plan involving Revy. It was none of his business, but he couldn't help but think Paul was accounting for him as one of those twenty variables he was playing with, and he didn't like it.

As if on cue, Paul called.

"Did she leave?"

"What the hell are you playing at?"

"Could you come by in an hour or so?"

"Depends on your answer."

"For old times' sake."

"That's what a prostitute passed her prime tells her old customers."

"You've seen her, what she's capable of, didn't you?"

"I missed the show. What is she to you?"

"..."

"Alright."

"Thanks, Dutch."

He hung up. Paul never said thanks. He usually said "I owe you one" instead.

* * *

She left Dutch behind at the docks and went to Paul's bar.

"Fuck Dutch! I'll ask Paul and go there myself!"

She pushed the door, found Paul sitting at the "reserved" table.

"What the f..." The words died in her throat.

"Hello, Rebecca! Welcome back! This is NYPD section 27 chief. I hope you don't mind taking a job straight away..."

As if she could forget that face... "So the fucker made it to chief..." she thought, "I'm sure he was exemplary..."

She felt as if her heart has swollen and was about to burst out of her throat. Her legs went hollow, and her eyes stung.

She always imagined that if she ever met that bastard again, she would put a bullet in between his eyes. Yet her arms seemed to have been dislocated.

"I think I'll pass..." She said almost inaudibly...

Paul nodded. "As you can see, she's a little exhausted... How about..."

She went out before Paul finishes his sentence. She sat on a nearby bench and lit a cigarette. "That's not fair..."

She sat there. With her head hung, she let the cigarette burn. 

* * *

Paul knew she wouldn't be able to do anything. "Now Dutch won't have any complaints..."

"Pardon?" the chief said.

"Just thinking out loud... Tell me chief, do you believe in Justice?"

"Wouldn't be a police chief if I didn't."

Paul felt disgusted. "Well, good sir, I don't. I believe in Retribution, though. Those who kill should be killed, those who steal should be stolen from, those who rape should be raped..."

"The good old "Eye for Eye," eh?"

Paul nodded towards his barman. 

* * *

Dutch found Revy outside Paul's bar.

"Is Paul in?" He asked her.

She raised her head and said in a husky voice: "Yes. He has company."

Despite that, he went in. He found Paul alone.

"I thought you had company."

"He went to pay an overdue debt."

"God complex, still?"

"Haha. Old habits die hard, right?"

"I don't know what you did to her, but you got her bad"

"See, Dutch? That's what I like you. You have a keen eye for that kind of things."

"Feed your bullshit to someone else. Do you think she'll still be useful? Seems like you woke up a deep-lying trauma or something. Besides, she wouldn't shut up about Roanapur... What have you been feeding her?"

"Don't worry about her. She knows how to vent. Although I never took it to this extreme, I believe in her."

"Why are you trying to send her to Roanapur?"

"I'm trying to send her with you. I'm retiring Dutch. I can't look out for her anymore."

"Look out for her? Since when do you that?"

"You grow soft with age, I guess..."

"That doesn't answer my question..."

"Even she doesn't know why I do it... I think she assumed I do it with all my gunmen... And I'm afraid she's too private about her past. If she's going to work with you, you're better off not knowing my reasons."

"I see... You knew I wouldn't ask her about her past, that why you think she'd be a good fit for me..."

"And that you'd treat her well."

"You didn't know I was coming here, so why did you feed her all those stories about Roanapur?"

"I was going to send for you. Fate did it for me..."

"What do you suppose I should tell her?"

"Tell her she's fired."

"Thanks."

"What?"

"You're retiring, I'm thanking you for your years of service... "

"Haha. Thanks, Dutch. You're doing a good thing."

"Go fuck yourself. So long Paul. I'm taking two of your most expensive whiskey as compensation."

"Compensation?"

"For pissing me off."

Paul laughed and told the barman to comply. He handed Dutch two 60 Year Old Glenfarclas John Grant. Dutch took the bottles and went out.

He found Revy where he left her. He sat down beside her.

"Paul says you're fired."

"That so?"

"You pestered me about Roanapur throughout this job. What about I take you there?"

"Fuck you."

Dutch guessed it was her way of telling him she wasn't in the mood. How many emotions can she express with that word?

"This is an official job offer from the Lagoon Company. The pay won't be as good as Paul's, but..."

"Look I don't know what shit deal you brokered with Paul. I ain't workin' for ya..."

"You'll find me at this number. Give me your final answer tomorrow. Here's a goodwill gift." He handed her one of the bottles of whiskey along with a piece of paper where he wrote the number of the hotel he was staying at.

* * *

When she gathered herself enough to go, she remembered she didn't have an apartment anymore. She went to a phone booth and called Sonya's number.

"Hello," Sonya's voice came through the phone.

"This is Rebecca."

"Oh, hello sweet stuff."

"Remember that thing I always said no to?"

"Yes."

"I'm in."

"Really? You're in luck, I just got three of'em. But I have company, you don't mind?"

"Even better!"

"Okay! Do you have something to write on? I'll give you the address..."

* * *

The phone in Dutch's Hotel room rung. It was Revy.

"I didn't expect you to call so soon."

"I accept your offer. I'll be at Hart Island tomorrow at dawn."

"Hart Island?"

"Yes. It's east of..."

"I know where it is. Access is restricted under the NY Department of Correction..."

"You don't have to dock. People I'm going with probably have a lifeboat. I'll swim if I need to. Just be somewhere near the east"

"Okay."

"One more thing, Dutch. If we're going to work together, let's stay out of each other's business. Got it?"

"Got it."

He hung up. "She knows how to vent... Just how much did you know, you old fart!"

* * *

She took a cab to City Island. She met Sonya and her boyfriend Chuck there. Chuck eyed her and with a satisfied grin, said to Sonya: "She's a looker alright?

"Just wait and see how she fucks me. You could take a few pointers you know..." Sonya said, poking his chest.

Chuck chuckled and extended his hand. "Looking forward to learning from the best."

Revy kept her hands in her pockets "Where are they?"

"Such enthusiasm!" Chuck mocked. "I took them there ahead."

"Okay let's go. Where's the boat?" Revy urged

"The Yacht..." Corrected Chuck. "You're right honey, she does have a temper."

"As I said, you could learn from her," Sonya said suggestively.

Half an hour later, they were on Hart Island. It was nigh-time, so they had to take flashlights. Chuck worked in the Correctional Department and walked as if he owned the place. There were many abandoned buildings. They went into a large one.

"This used to be an Asylum," Sonya informed.

"How fitting for the two of you" she retorted.

They went on until they arrived at the end of a long corridor. Chuck undid the lock on a chain that held the door shut. He pointed his flashlight on three teenage children. A boy and two girls.

"What do you think, Rebecca?" Whispered Sonya from behind her.

Chuck was displaying a silly grin.

"Here's what I think!" She pulled her guns from her satchel and put two bullets in Chuck's kneecaps. Sonya tried to escape, but Revy's guns were faster. She fell on her face and wailed. The children squirmed. Chuck tried to get up. She shot him in the balls. He twisted and turned like a maniac. "I guess that's punishment enough for you... Here's one more for good measure!" She kicked him in the face, fracturing his nose.

She untied the frightened children and gave the boy a flashlight. "Go wait outside. Ignore the woman you see in the hallway."

She picked up the ropes and went to Sonya, who was still trying to get away, and dragged by the hair. "You twisted bitch!" She used the rope to tie Sonya to a pipe then turned her on her back. She spread Sonya's legs violently until she fractured her hips. Sonya wails increased in magnitude. Then she stepped on her groin, shattering her pelvic bone. One scream, then Sonya's wail turned into sobs.

As she was taking care of Sonya, Chuck stopped twisting and started crawling towards a nearby window. She stepped on his back. "You were so hard, that you forgot to check if I had guns. You and your disgusting bitch over there were so horny to rape those brats that you took a criminal with you without second-guessing her". She shifted her foot to his tail bone and stepped it with all her strength. He was a little harder to immobilize than Sonya, but she managed it anyway.

She left the sick couple in the hallway and exited the building. The children were obediently waiting for her against the wall, too weak to stand by themselves. She sat in front of them. She lit a cigarette and examined each of them.

Now that her boiling settled down, she started to consider what she did. She hated Sonya's guts. She knew she raped children, but she never acted on it. She had no right acting righteous. She didn't do it out of anger or hatred, either. She let couldn't lift a finger against the one she had every right to kill. "I am a coward..." she muttered.

The boy asked her reluctantly: "Are you a cop?"

She gave him a blank look then looked the other two girls, huddled together against the wall. "What was I thinking?" She whispered. She had no business saving those kids, they have no future. Sonya always made a point of picking kids that had no family and were a pain for welfare centers to handle.

She put a bullet between the boy's eyes. The girls started screaming, but she silenced them as well.

"Give me a break!"

She hoped she wouldn't run of cigarettes before dawn. She opened the Whisky Dutch gave her.

"That's good stuff..."

At dawn, she made her way the east of the island. Dutch was docked there.

She looked at him suspiciously.

"Paul's too efficient," He said.

"So, where's this Roanapur place?"

"South China Sea"

"What? Can this thing even cross the ocean?"

"No. There's a ship-carrier in route there this afternoon."

"Looks like I have to learn the sea jargon, after all," she said smiling.

Dutch returned her smile. "Of course."


End file.
